CHAPTER 32

Ben

“Son of a bitch, Neil. How in hell did that get through?”

I’m furious. I come home from spending a few hours at the hospital with my sister, thinking it’s safe to leave my girl at home, only to find her in a ball on our bed, crying her eyes out. It doesn’t matter that by her own explanation it was only “pregnancy hormones,” or that she was crying because she couldn’t have “another go at that bitch.” What matters is that she was upset because of an email that never should’ve reached her.

“I’m sorry man. I closed down the tracking program as soon as the woman was in FBI custody. She must’ve had that email lined up to go out from her phone, but without reception, it got stuck in her outbox. The phone was dead when they took it as evidence from the cabin. They must have charged it up to examine it at the FBI offices, and as soon as it found a signal, it would’ve automatically sent off whatever was in the outbox.”

I hate that he makes sense. I want to hang onto my anger, but I have to admit I can’t really blame anyone for this unfortunate fuck up.

“Got it,” I grumble. I could probably be a bit more gracious but Neil doesn’t seem to hold a grudge.

“I’m still sorry,” he says, with a lot more meaning than I’m comfortable with. Living through that shit and having any memory of it was bad enough; having every-fucking-body get a gander at your naked, helpless self is beyond humiliating. Son of a bitch.

“Yeah,” I blow him off. “Anyway, you got any more news? I haven’t talked to Damian yet, but I figure your nosey ass probably knows whether that psych assessment has come back yet.”

“Funny you should mention that,” he says, chuckling. “Nothing’s official yet, but I may have accidentally tripped over the hospital transcripts of a forty-three-year-old, caucasian female with paranoid schizophrenia in an acute stage of psychosis. Further hospitalization is recommended to attempt to control symptoms with a variety of treatment options.”

“In other words, she’ll be found unfit to stand trial,” I conclude.

“Likely,” Neil agrees before he offers, “but, she’ll be behind bars either way.”

“Nah. They’ll drug her up until she can barely function and declare her healed. She could be out in months; forget to take her meds and end up just as bat-shit crazy as she is now.”

It’s the truth. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve done unspeakable things, who avoid prison by reason of insanity and before you know it, they’re back on the streets. I never thought much about it, I only had myself to worry about, but the prospect terrifies me now.

I have Isla and our child to worry about.

“We’ll keep track of her,” Neil says, immediately understanding. “I’ll personally keep track of her. I promise.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

I end the call and pour myself another glass of scotch when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Got another one of those?” Al asks, pulling out the stool beside me.

“You bet.” I get up to grab a second tumbler and pour him a good two-finger measure. I can hear the sound of laughter coming from our bedroom, where Isla and Mak are cuddled up with her laptop, watching some comedy on Netflix.

“Couldn’t help overhear part of that,” Al says after taking a sip from his drink. “Need me to stick around?” I turn around in my seat and clap a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” I tell him sincerely. “But there’s no way to tell what’s going to happen. Only thing sure is that she’s locked away for the foreseeable future. You’ve gotta go see to your wife and trust me that I’ll take care of mine.”

“Yours?” He pulls up one eyebrow.

“She will be. Soon.”

“No need to rush things, Son.”

“Gonna be fifty next year, old man, I’d hardly call it rushing.” I know Isla had wanted to keep the pregnancy quiet for a bit so the two of us could get used to the idea first, but her uncle deserves to know. “Besides,” I add. “No child of mine will be born without my name.”

It’s deadly quiet. Al’s glass is suspended somewhere halfway to his mouth as he gapes at me, the wheels turning behind his eyes. Suddenly he slams the glass down on the counter and I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter on impact. Without taking his eyes off me, I see him take in a deep breath.

“Isla! Get your ass out here, girl!” he bellows suddenly and I can’t stop the bark of laughter.

“What?” The dog jumps up in confusion as Isla comes running from the hallway, Mak padding in behind her. She takes one look at her uncle staring at me with something close to murder in his eyes and then she turns her gaze to me, with much the same expression on her face. “What’s going on?”

“You were going to send me on my merry way without telling me you’re pregnant?” It’s almost humorous, seeing her mouth open and close like a fish as she reaches for an appropriate answer.

“You’re having a baby?” This from Mak, who is the only other person who seems to be happy with the news. Must be a familial thing. 

“You told him,” Isla hisses at me.

“I had to,” I explain, looking from one to the other, before I settle on Mak. “Yes, honey. We’re having a baby.”

“Yay!”

“Ben!”

“Son of a bitch!”

The last was Al who looks ready to feed me his fist, yet the person who worries me most is my Pixie, who appears hungry for blood.

“I had to,” I repeat, keeping my gaze fixed on her. “Because he didn’t want me to rush into marrying you, and I wasn’t going to ask you without his blessing.”

It all makes perfect sense to me, and to an enthusiastically nodding Mak, but the other two seem less convinced. Time to bring out the big guns. Or the ring.

One of the reasons I was so pissed off about finding Isla in tears was because I’d planned to ask her tonight, with her uncle still here, but the timing was clearly off. Mak helped me pick out a ring this afternoon, after we left the hospital, and she’d been as excited as I was.

I slip off the stool, take a step closer to Isla, put my hands on her waist and lift her up, swinging her around so I can sit her down on the edge of the counter. Before she has a chance to react, I pull the box out of my pocket and flip it open.

“Marry me.”

Isla

Seriously?

That doesn’t even remotely sound like a question, let alone a proposal.

Something in my face must’ve given him a clue, because his face softens as he grabs my hand with his free one.

“You know I don’t do words, Pixie, but you’ve got to know by now how meaningless my life would be if I didn’t have you to share it with. You were a surprise when I met you, and you’ve been a surprise every day since.” He pauses, checking me out like he’s gauging his level of success, when Uncle Al pipes up.

“Girl, just say yes. Put me out of my misery. If I have to listen to this man bungle through this wedding proposal any further, I might actually have a stroke.” Then he turns his attention to Ben. “And you’re about as smooth as low grit sandpaper.  You need some game.”

I almost laugh, watching Ben’s face fall, but then I spot Mak’s hopeful little face, looking at her uncle like he hung the moon, and I melt. Because I recognize it. Sometimes I look at Ben the same way. He’s bossy, can be overbearing, and he certainly has the ability to irk me, but he also believes in me, makes me feel safe, and loves me without reservation. My uncle is wrong; he’s not bungling his proposal, because his intentions are right there, plain as day on his face.

I place my hands on each side of his rugged face and kiss him sweetly.

“Of course,” I whisper against his lips, smiling when I hear Mak let out a whoop.

-

Still, it’s bittersweet when Mak and I furiously wave goodbye to my uncle walking through security at the airport. Ben stands off to the side, his hands in his pockets, only lifting his chin slightly when Uncle Al looks at us one last time before disappearing.

He’ll be back. In April, he said, when he can drive without the risk of snow.

“Should plan your wedding then,” he suggested with a big grin.

“We can do that,” Ben answered for both of us, which resulted in another discussion around the importance of communication, or rather the lack thereof. I was feeling a might left out to say the least. A significant oversight, since I’d be the one walking down the aisle, the size of a truck by then. This baby is due early June. 

I argued to wait until after the baby is born to get married, but nobody else agreed with me. Then Ben promised that he couldn’t imagine me any more beautiful than round with his child, and I finally gave in.

Last night, the two men had talked about Ben’s retro trailer ideas while I sat curled up in the corner of the couch, just listening to them talk as I twirled the pretty blue moonstone ring on my finger. Ben’s choice was perfect and indicative of how well he really knows me. I’m simply not a diamond kind of girl, and when he told me the moonstone reminded him of the first time we kissed out on the dock, he had me burst out in tears. Even Uncle Al grudgingly nodded his approval.

Happy times.

Even while saying goodbye, because he’ll be back.

We dropped Atsa off at Jen’s again this morning, who is getting much too attached to our big, hairy, and very lovable mountain dog and stopped in at the hospital on the way to Durango, to see Stacie. Her transportation to Mercy Regional is scheduled for tomorrow. Ben suggested we all see Uncle Al off, and drive straight through to Albuquerque, with the trailer hitched to the SUV.

The plan is to pick up as much as we can haul back of Mak and Stacie’s stuff, and pack the rest into storage. With Stacie looking forward to months of rehabilitation and at this point unable to see where the future will lead; she, along with Ben, decided that mainly for her peace of mind, she’d give up her little bungalow. We’ll spend one or two nights to get that sorted and then we’ll pack up the trailer and head back.

We’ll stop in Durango, this time at Mercy to see how Stacie has settled in and to give her the few things she’s requested from her home, and then it’s back to Dolores.

It’s not going to be easy, a lot of driving back and forth to Durango to see Stacie while she’s recovering at first. Then once the bulk of her surgeries are done, we should be able to bring her home, hopefully sooner than later. Home with us, because her road to recovery is really only just starting.

The emotional lash back will undoubtedly come. Not just half her body, but also half of Stacie’s beautiful face is marred by burns and will likely be scarred, even after grafting. Although there’s a lot that can be done with plastic surgery these days, she will never look the way she did before.

Ben’s biggest concern is her emotional well-being. Of course she is in a tremendous amount of pain still, but it’s obvious she is already retreating. Except when Mak is there; she comes alive when she sees her daughter.

“Can we stop at Sonic?” Mak pipes up from the back seat when we get back into the car.

“You guys have a serious addiction to fast food,” I observe.

“But I’ve never actually been to one,” she argues. “Every time we’d drive by one at home, Mom would tell me next time.”

I peek sideways at Ben, who’s looking at his niece in the rearview mirror before turning his hangdog eyes on me. When I turn around to check on Mak, her eyes hold the same pitiful expression.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, fine. Let’s do drive-thru,” I give in, rolling my eyes.

Mak squeals in the back seat and Ben reaches over and squeezes my knee, his signature shit-eating grin on his face.

The worst part?

I may have developed a pregnancy addiction to mozzarella sticks dipped in peanut butter fudge shake. 

To Ben and Mak’s delight, we hit every Sonic Drive-thru in Albuquerque while there, and I keep telling myself it’s because we have no time to put together a proper meal. All lies.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks me when we’re driving back home. He must’ve heard my deep sigh. Would be hard not to, since I may have put a little umph into it.

“I wish we had a Sonic closer by,” I complain, to Ben’s hilarity.

“We may have created a monster, Makenna,” he says over his shoulder, and I hear her soft giggle from the backseat.

“Guess she doesn’t know they have one in Cortez,” his niece answers, snorting.

Oh no. Correction; by the time April comes around, I’ll be the size of a blimp.

It doesn’t stop the grin from spreading.